


Soldier: 76 gets Flu

by quartzapple



Series: Overwatch gets Things [4]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Sick Fic, let these old men rest, old men looking after each other, what happens when super soldiers get flu
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-05
Updated: 2018-04-05
Packaged: 2019-04-18 15:07:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14215785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quartzapple/pseuds/quartzapple
Summary: Jack manages to get the tail end of a bout of flu that strikes Overwatch. Gabriel is not happy about this, and takes matters into his own hands.





	Soldier: 76 gets Flu

**Author's Note:**

> This came into existence because I have a really bad cold and I wanted to make people suffer as I have suffered. I may include a next part where the rest of Overwatch have to suffer illness because I'm evil.

It took about a minute for Soldier: 76 to stop shooting his pulse rifle due to a particularly strong bought of coughing. It took less than twenty seconds for Reaper to notice this, cease his return fire and pin the other man to a wall. One clawed hand came to rest on a shoulder, outwardly to pin said shoulder in place, inwardly to slowly drag a thumb back and forth over the edge of a shoulderblade in comfort. Not that the camera feed from whatever random warehouse the altercation was taking place in would pick it up.

“You’re sick. What the fuck are you doing out in the field?” Reaper questioned, voice rough. Soldier replied with yet another bought of hacking coughing caused by being shoved so rudely against a wall.

“I’m fine, G- Reaper,” replied Soldier, cutting the aborted ‘G’ off with a cough that wasn’t quite as natural as the others. “Can we just go back to shooting lethal weapons at each other like we normally do?”

Unfortunately for Soldier: 76, this too was punctuated with another bought of coughing, one so severe that his knees began giving way beneath him and he actually had to lean back and press a hand to the wall behind him to stop from falling down. He could feel sweat begin to collect behind the mask and visor. Probably the beginnings of a fever.

Reaper audibly sighed. The hand that wasn’t pressing Soldier to a wall came up to his mouth, and he removed both glove and sharp gauntlet using his teeth to press the palm of an unnaturally cold hand to the exposed skin of Soldier’s forehead. Despite the mask, Soldier could still read Ga-, no, _Reaper’s_ body language. He was concerned. His shoulders tipped then tensed slightly, as if preparing to go into a battle he wasn’t quite sure he’d win. It was an old tell, one he’d clearly thought he’d lost but had apparently picked up again along the way since their separation.

“You have a fever,” Reaper growled. “As such, I’m officially taking you prisoner temporarily since your own damn organisation can’t seem to be bothered to treat your illnesses properly,”

“Oh, how kind of you, Gabe,” the name slipped out. Both men froze for a second, then resumed their roles. They weren’t _Morrison_ and _Reyes_ now. They were enemy agents, locked in a battle against each other. This was just a temporary lapse in protocol.

“Shut up,” replied Reaper. He pulled away from Soldier to put his glove and gauntlet back on, just as a wave of dizziness penetrated Soldier’s skull. That was new. Other agents had been prone to fainting, but he’d assumed his enhancements would prevent such weaknesses. It was part of the reason he’d agreed to do this supposedly simple recon mission. But no, here he was, once again in the hands (pretty literally) of his nemesis.

Who was being oddly nice to him.

Instead of slinging him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, Reaper actually scooped him up in his arms and carried him to whatever Talon safehouse was nearby. After comming Sombra to comm Winston to tell him that Soldier would be returned at the nearest possible convenience, and _no, it was absolutely not fucking okay to send an old man with fucking flu on such a dangerous operation, you fucking young people have no fucking respect for your elders and-_

Jack tuned him out after a while. Sombra was either going to relay the message as it (swearily) was or condense it for ease of transmission through their encoded line. Likely the former. His body temperature seemed to be rapidly rising in Gabriel’s arms, despite the coolness of his flesh even through the coat and armour.

The bridal carry wasn’t terribly objectionable.

At some point, he passed out. He dreamed of vague past events, clearly coloured by the present. Gabe speaking soft words to him in the past over rougher bedsheets, now tinted with the anger of the present. Once-calloused fingertips, now sharpened into claws, running over a hip bone. Gabe’s face, clearly in focus, the last time he saw him, no tears but the look of betrayal on his face enough to cause a prickle in Jack’s own eyes.

Thankfully, the visor was still in place when he woke up on an unexpectedly soft bed a few hours later. It immediately picked up Reaper’s presence in the room, though it was more nebulous than solid. He’d clearly not moved upon awakening, and Reaper had evidently not noticed. Soldier did his best to keep his breathing at a sleeper’s pace despite the emotional dreams. He’d been technically kidnapped by an enemy agent, even if said agent had proceeded to do nothing but help him by putting a cool wash cloth on his forehead as he shivered through a fever and tucked soft blankets around him and-

“You’re awake,” Reaper said, oddly softly for a guy who wore a bird skull mask and dual-wielded shotguns.

“I guess I am. You took my mask off,” Soldier replied. He could feel its absence in the cool breeze as it drifted over his face. “Though it’s not like we didn’t know who each other was,”

“How could I forget that ridiculous shooting stance of yours? Let alone,” Reaper paused. He huffed a small laugh. “That ass of yours in those pants. Seriously, Jack. You’re way too old to be running around in such a tight get-up. Get with the game and dress like the rest of us would-be pensioners,”

“You know you still love it,” said the fever. Jack internally cursed. It might have been external. Gabe chucked either way.

“So what the fuck is this bug? It’s not Talon’s doing, so it’s probably not a bio-weapon, and it doesn’t seem to be a nerve agent. It looks like-“

“Flu? Yep,” Jack replied, coughing slightly. “We managed to get a strain of flu that not even Mercy could fix. I’m the last one to get it-“

“So don’t I dare order a raid on whatever base you’re all currently holed up in having orgies or painting your nails or whatever? Got it. Besides, it’s no fun kicking you when you’re down.” Gabe reached over to turn the cloth on Jack’s forehead, shoulders sinking a little in a bodily grimace at the warmth of Jack’s forehead. Was it really that bad?

Neither of them had managed to shoot each other yet. Honestly, it had got to the point that neither of them were _trying_ to shoot each other, water under the bridge and all that, but there was still a level of semi-friendly animosity. It wasn’t like with (most) of the other enemy agents who were shooting to kill. And it wasn’t exactly hard to kill someone with a shotgun or a pulse rifle. If Soldier: 76 and Reaper were due to be set up against each other in combat, the rest of the respective teams just sort of left them to their banter (read: weird flirting) and got on with the mission and tuned them out of the comms, just in case. Winston was left with the unfortunate job of monitoring _that_.

Jack tilted his head up at Gabe’s touch as he touched the cloth, whining almost imperceptibly.

 _This was a terrible idea_ , thought Reaper.

“This was a terrible idea,” said Gabe.

“Yes, it really was,” answered Jack. “Have you given me any kind of anti-inflammatory or decongestant?”

Gabe paused, stroking a finger over the wet cloth. He wasn’t sure if Jack had a headache or not. The motion was meant to be soothing, despite the claw catching on the loose coils of thread in the fabric. He was, he supposed, out of practise.

“…was I supposed to?” he replied.

“The SEP was meant to reduce our chances of getting sick, not _removing_ them. Did you really never have to look after a sick family member or friend or whatever as a kid? The first thing you do is bring them a painkiller at least, my head is killing me-“

Gabe immediately jerked his hand away from Jack’s head, afraid he was causing him pain. The loving caresses might be long gone, but comfort, at least, shouldn’t be-

“You aren’t going to kill me by touching my forehead, Gabe, don’t be ridiculous,” Jack’s voice was firm despite it all, one hand clasping loosely around the wrist of the hand that had been touching his forehead. “I don’t mind that,”

“I can-“ he began. “I can get you some?” It came out as a question. Certainly Moira would be happy to supply him with any kind of, albeit probably experimental and largely untested, medication. Behind the mask, his mouth twisted in distaste. Robbing a nearby pharmacy was far more preferable.

He robbed a pharmacy mostly as a smoky, ill-defined-on-security-cameras shape. The medicine was mostly, apparently, palliative – from what he’d dragged out of Moira I the mean time, a body just had to get over influenza. The cough and the sniffling and the headaches were just part and parcel of the overall virus, and they just fucking sucked. A nice hot drink of lemon-y, honey-y warmth was as good as any pharmaceutical. She had way more important things (and people) to experiment upon, anyway.

Gabe coaxed Jack, who was only semi-lucid and very clingy, into a sitting position to slip a little of the warm drink down his throat.

“…tastes like fuckin’…weird shit Mom made me…” he began. “Gabe? Are you…?”

“Yes, darling, it’s me,” Gabe said. Then he caught the ‘darling’ bit. Fuck.

Jack curled closer into his body. It took every ounce of willpower not to disperse, drop the near-boiling mug all over Jack’s mostly exposed body, and wraith to the other side of the room. He was so warm, so familiar, even through the layers of clothes. Aged as they were, neither of them had lost their musculature or shape. Though scars curved across Jack’s face, it was still him. Older, more broken, but...him.

Jack mostly stopped talking after finishing the drink and slipped into sleep. Gabe remained perched on the bed. The mask suddenly seemed heavy, the coat and gloves and talons _restrictive, his physical form_ seemed restrictive. He shifted into smoke, retreating to a corner of the room. This wasn’t right. He couldn’t suddenly feel protective again of a man who’d done nothing but love him then betray him then do…something to him all over again. It was _Jack fucking Morrison_. That boat had sailed. He’d been dead too long to be the same man Gabriel had fallen in love with and then tried so hard to fall out of love with.

Despite himself, Gabe shook off the coat, gloves, gauntlets and mask. Jack would probably sleep for a while, given the amount of sleeping pills he’d snuck into the drink. Despite the pain, he let himself begin to dissolve at the edges. This wasn’t an experience he wanted to be perfectly solid for. The pain of disintegration would be grounding.

Three hours later, Jack moved.

Gabriel wraithed to his side immediately, only to part in the middle as Jack punched out a fist at a sudden, unexpected presence.

“It’s just me, Jackie,” Gabe replied with an unexpected familiarity. Jack watched as one eyebrow quirked as a response to Gabriel’s own wording.

“What, are we back to cute nicknames?” Jack’s voice was still shredded with sickness, but still conveyed the teasing tone. “Can I go back to calling you-“

“Absolutely fucking not,” said Gabriel. “If you call me that I will not only murder you, but everyone you hold dear and your little cat, too!” Though he couldn’t quite hide how his tone had somewhat changed to mockery towards the end

“Not Maggie!” Jack gasped in fake surprise. He huffed under his breath. “I know you’ve seen those photos of me with her and I also know you’d never harm her based on your ridiculously adorable replies, Gabe. She’s a peach and you want to meet her,”

“I can neither confirm nor deny,” Gabe said cryptically. “Either way, your fever has broken. I should probably return you to Overwatch at some point,”

Jack sat up. Admittedly, he did feel a lot better. It was probably a combination of whatever sinister chemicals Moira had fed him via Gabe and the SEP enhancement hoohah. Given that he had been captured, it would be a good idea to get back within good time so as not to worry the pants off the rest of the agents. Winston would be through at least ten tubs of peanut butter by now.

“You could come with me and meet the cat?” he suggested lightly.

“Maybe next time, Jack,” Gabe replied, finally dissolving into smoke. He curled around Jack’s face once more in a simulation of a caress before sliding out of a crack in the tiny window. Jack smiled. It was better than nothing.

**Author's Note:**

> I have one of those kick-ass immune systems that means I get sick like once every five years so this was my one chance to write this. I get over colds and flu super quick. My mutant body is a truly a marvel to behold.


End file.
